A couple of nights ago, I was buried in my two ass-wide couch, surrounded by swollen, off-white cushions. I happened to be listening to the NY Philharmonic, featuring the Juilliard String Quartet, playing Aaron Copeland’s Lincoln Portrait, conducted by him. I don’t...
I am sitting at the usual, staged setting for writing, always the same. My desk is triangular shaped and it wedges perfectly into its corner of the room. When my eyes rise above the computer screen, I look straight into the windowless corner, having to raise my head...
